


The Tides of War and all it's Desperation

by SweeTarts151



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweeTarts151/pseuds/SweeTarts151
Summary: War is tearing the world apart, starving and weakened both the Alliance and the Horde will fall to each other and starvation. The survivors will be crushed underfoot by the true threat looming in the darkness, waiting for their weaknesses to be exploited, unless they come together and work towards a better future.-------Sylvanas scoffs, fangs flashing in the moonlight. The trees creak around them ominously. “Your precious Alliance turned away my people, long before we joined the Horde. How do you propose we do this?”Jaina licks her lip, mouth dry, muscles weary but mind still sharp. “A marriage if nothing else, something solid the people can look at. Something they can’t tear apart. We need more than paperwork and meetings.”Sylvanas laughs, brittle and rattling in her chest, vocal chords unused to such sounds of true amusement instead of mockery. “Between?”Jaina’s chin tilts up again and she has scant few inches on Sylvanas, but looks all the larger with her broad shoulders, thin as they are in hunger. “You and I."
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 23
Kudos: 136





	1. A Broken and Battered Hope

Deep in the forest with only the stars and trees watching, far away from scouting parties and far from their troops two women face off, the forest silent around them as the two predators glare at one another, waiting for the moment to strike. A moment of weakness they could take advantage of. “Now you’re all alone Proudmoore.” Sylvanas taunts, bow drawn taut and arrow ready to bury itself into the mage’s chest, knees slightly unsteady from the portal Jaina had ripped the two of them through in the middle of the fight. They are far from the battlefield, no smoke in the air from the fires for miles, the sounds of fighting missing around them. They are alone.

With a sigh Jaina drops the frost bolt in her hand, letting her magic fade and the glow in her eyes fades until the only blue there is the natural blue of her eyes. They are dull, exhausted and without the bright glow of arcane the dark bags under her eyes show what the wars have been doing to the human. “Aren’t you tired of fighting? The war and the death and so much pain?” Jaina’s voice is tinged in exhausted and Sylvanas narrows her eyes, listening for an attack even as she listens to the mage. “They mean to turn Orgrimmar into Theramore and I-” Jaina lets out a shuddering breath, broad shoulders, normally so straight and proud, dip and curve under the weight of too many deaths. A burden that she had borne without complaint until now. “I _cannot_ let that happen.”

Sylvanas’ ears twitch forward, betraying her curiosity and her long eyebrows dip into a furrow, cautious yet curious. She stands on a knive’s edge, able to taste the precipice of change heavy in the air. Her hands, steady and scarred, lower her bow until it hangs nearly limp in her left hand, she stands as tall and steady as she had when she stood outside the gates of her home when her heart still beat, and her sisters stilled loved her. “Why?”

“Because if they destroy Orgrimmar then this war will never end.” Chin tilted up in defiance, Jaina speaks barely loud enough to be heard but it still rings true and steady. “I am tired of fighting, tired of losing people.” She draws in a shuddering breath and there is a haunting in her eyes. Like a prophet seeing the deaths of millions. “There is a bigger war coming and they will wipe us out after we have squabbled and weakened one another in the years to come.”

“How do you know this?” Sylvanas narrows her eyes, barely keeping her ears from twitching again, from betraying her emotions like she was some decades old child.

Jaina’s lips twist into the facsimile of a smile, all wry humor and palatable terror. “The tides spoke and I listened. There is an army accumulating underwater, too many to even think of fighting while we’re split and weakened.”

“The tides?” There’s derision there.

“Aye.” Jaina barks out, near baring her teeth like the dogs that once roamed the streets of Theramore. “I’m a mage and a Kul Tiran at that. The Tide Mother is ours and I am Daughter of the Sea.” Her words crack and her throat bobs at the name given to her by the Kul Tiran’s. By her father.

Sylvanas hums, taunting even as her grip tightens on her bow. “And why would I agree to this?”

“Your people are starving just as ours are.” Jaina glares at Sylvanas, and the elf darts her eyes over the human, broad as she is there is little to no meat on her. Kul Tiran’s were built like mountains, broad shoulders with muscles that rippled like the seas they lived on. Jaina is not as sturdy as the Kul Tiran’s Sylvanas had seen so long ago. There is a hunger thinness to her, the thinness that spoke of meals skipped and muscles once thick and healthy, weakening. It reminds her of the Orcs in the Horde, larger than life but weakening with each failed crop, with each hunting party coming back with less and less. Of her living people begging to be brought back when they pass. Of children, confused at the restrictions of food, wanting and waiting. Starvation was a slow death. An ugly death and it seems the Alliance is suffering just as the Horde. “The oceans swallow up the crops and the winds tear apart the lands even as we burn each other’s food reserves. We need to come together. We’re not just killing soldiers, we’re slowing killing our civilians. Our _children.”_

Sylvanas scoffs, fangs flashing in the moonlight. The trees creak around them ominously. “Your precious Alliance turned away my people, long before we joined the Horde. How do you propose we do this?”

Jaina licks her lip, mouth dry, muscles weary but mind still sharp. “A marriage if nothing else, something solid the people can look at. Something they can’t tear apart. We need more than paperwork and meetings.”

Sylvanas laughs, brittle and rattling in her chest, vocal chords unused to such sounds of true amusement instead of mockery. “Between?”

Jaina’s chin tilts up again and she has scant few inches on Sylvanas, but looks all the larger with her broad shoulders, thin as they are in hunger. “You and I, Anduin is too young and he is needed in his kingdom. I can go where I am needed, I can go to Orgrimmar with you.”

Sylvanas purses her lips, eyes narrowing at Jaina’s specifications. “Why _Orgrimmar_ , why me?” She remembers a time when the mage before her, young, heartbroken and full of all the rage of her people’s injustice and all the mana of a bomb, had come for Orgrimmar.

“If I am in Orgrimmar they cannot destroy it, a safety net for the Horde.” There’s a flash of something in her eyes, haunting and echoing of a pain and loneliness. Theramore. Sylvanas’ shoulder relax a fraction, reading the mage. This was not a ploy to destroy Orgrimmar. No. Jaina would not do as had been done to her. “And as much as I hate it, you are the only one for the job." Jaina's teeth flash in a macabre smile. "It is either you or I marry Nathanos and we both know we’d kill one another by the end of the ceremony.”

“He is loyal.” Sylvanas’ fangs flash in a smirk. “He’d wait until after, he trusts me that much.”

Jaina barks out a laugh, deep and throaty. “Well, who better to control the Daughter of the Sea than the Banshee Queen?”

“What’s in it for my people?” Sylvanas circles Jaina, steps as silent as the forest around them. “Half of them need not eat.”

Jaina doesn’t flinch as the Banshee Queen circles behind her, nor does she move to follow the banshee, no she stands as still and steady as the sea before a storm hits. “No, but those that do are starving, we can end the starvation.” Jaina tilts her head up, chin defiant. “And you’ve elves weakened without a mana source.” That haunted look flashes in her eyes again but there is a stubborn flash of pride. Near cock sure. “I took a mana bomb, I am unmatched by any mage in this world. I can provide enough mana for Orgrimmar, your elves and _more_.”

Sylvanas’ lips pull back and her fangs shine in the light as she pulls in a breath, the mana is thick in the air, nearly overpowering and this is with her sense of taste muted by death. But she can smell the mana in the air like blood in the water. The Alliance’s secret weapon, overpowered, tired and broken. “The Alliance has been hiding many things.” The mana bleeds off her, despite having been in battle for hours against the Horde, Jaina pours it out of her very being in a constant stream. Her human body barely containing the power. This much mana could wipe out any of the kingdoms. Turn the tides of war. And here she was, wanting to end the war with peace instead of turning herself into the very bomb that destroyed her people. With her mind spinning and calculating Sylvanas presses on. “I’m surprised you knew the effects mana has on elves.”

“I’ve had enough follow me around like I’m the sun. I did.” Jaina pauses and her lips twitch. “Research.”

Sylvanas lips curl back and her teeth bared in a vicious smile, now face to face with Jaina again. “You bled mana into the air and watched them come running like mutts in heat.”

Jaina shrugs a shoulder. “As I said, I ran tests and did my research, I am nothing if not observant and thorough.”

There’s a hungry look in glowing red eyes, the look of moving in for the kill. Of watching a plan come to fruition and _winning._ No, not just winning, but annihilation. “The Alliance _wastes_ your true potential.”

“The Alliance was never my people, never my goal.” Jaina stare Sylvanas down, knows this woman after years of battle and of watching closely. Know where to press and retreat. “I went to them after Theramore.”

Sylvanas darts her eyes over Jaina and there are small indications that Jaina had taken a mana bomb and bent it around her own arcane, the slight near glow of arcane in her eye, barely there but uncommon in humans and too common in elves saturated in mana. Small nearly hidden patterns of lightning across her palms and running up her arms, hidden under sleeves and gloves, but they had glowed so brightly when Jaina had held her frost bolt in her hand. Sylvanas briefly wondered where all the bolts of glowing arcane went before her ears near flinch at the reminder of where these marks came from.

She remembered hearing about Theramore, the rage that she had felt, the pain and terror and anguish of thinking Vereesa was in Theramore with her husband and children. The wail that had ripped from her throat and swallowed the life out of the forest and animals around her. The way her dark rangers had flocked to her, red eyes dimmed and full of the same anguish that tore apart Sylvanas. “Yes, I _remember_.” Too vividly she remembers wanting to tear the Horde leaders apart. Tear the Alliance apart, to tear the world apart and watch it burn around her. Theramore had been neutral and both sides had failed Theramore and the too young woman who would not side with either. Who even stood against her own father’s bias and paid the price for her hope.

Jaina’s eyes shine and she is not the young naïve girl she once was, but there is still that hope in her, beaten and broken and stitched back together. Weakened, but there. Always there, hidden in her chest, coated by ice and layers upon layers of pain and torment. Once overpowered by rage and loss, it beats, a cautious flicker of it in her gaze. Near snuffed out, but a small burning ember awaiting a breath to set it ablaze again. “I have only ever wanted peace between factions. I had it in Theramore and it was pleasant. It was _mine_ and it was destroyed. I lost my way in revenge and hatred.”

Sylvanas near scoffs, the same rage and anguish that had been there since her mother fell, since Alleria’s disappearance, since the fall and Arthas’ torment, and news of Rhonin's death by Horde hands, it haunts her deep in her very being. The weight heavy on her shoulders and thick in her veins, burying and hiding the woman she once was. “But you are free of it now?”

“No, it still burns but it was not you who dropped the mana bomb on my people.” The fire flickers in Jaina and the air around them crackles with mana as her eyes glow ever so slightly more. “And I will have peace again if I have to drag the Alliance through it like children by their ears.”

“An apt imagine.” Sylvanas steps close until she can feel the heat from the mage’s body and tilts her head to the side, waiting for the human to flinch back like so many others. “Let’s say we do this Proudmoore, can you handle looking at the Horde. Being surrounded by the Horde? _Living_ with the Horde.”

Jaina doesn’t flinch back from the close proximity, she pulls in a deep breath and meets Sylvanas’ gaze. “As I said it wasn’t you or _your_ people that destroyed mine, it took me longer to realize that than it should’ve.”

Sylvanas’ fangs flash. “At least you aren’t too _proud_ to admit that.”

Jaina glares into burning red eyes, her own blue glowing with the hint of arcane that pulses in her constantly. “We all have our faults, will your pride be yours Lady Windrunner?”

"No, but you will know of mine soon enough." Sylvanas twists her lips into a crooked smirk, eyes dancing with more life than they had in battle. "Little wife."


	2. Desperate Dealings

Soft orange paints the sky as dusk settles, the light creeps through the high windows of the library, shedding beams of light in the slowly darkening room. Jaina Proudmoore drops a report onto the too small desk Anduin has hidden himself behind today, too many books piled on its surface as he searches for answers in the tombs. “Anduin.”

“Aunty.” His smile is a weary one, his eyes not quite as bright as they once were, with dark purple bags resting under them. Making him seem far older than his years, his cheeks too angular, child-like youth stolen from them. “What brings you here today?”

She passes him a cup of tea, the honey sweet mixture he was so fond of. “Anduin, I know you’re as tired as I am. You aren’t meant to be a soldier.”

He sighs, the marks under his eyes near dark enough to be bruises and the wrinkles around his mouth from frowning. He bears the mark of leadership as Jaina does, with stiff shoulders, a straight back and weariness etched into their very being. “I manage well enough.”

“And watching your people die is killing you.” She rests a hand on the one trembling on the desk, they are so much larger than hers now and she squeezes it gently, feels the tremors that wrack through his body. “I don’t want to see you become something you’re not. Genn’s idea, Orgrimmar. It _cannot_ happen.”

Anduin looks at her, chews on his lip and his fingers pick at the gouge in the desk like it had when he had sat there on his father’s lap. “I hadn’t planned on it. But.” A sigh shakes his whole frame, rattling in his chest as he rubs at his too long hair, brushing it from in front of his eyes. “I may be outvoted at this rate.”

“No.” Jaina’s voice is as sharp as the cold air that suddenly takes up residence in the room. “This war will end, I promise you this.”

He rubs at his brows before using his free hand to slowly close each book. One on planting crops in weary times, another on balms to ease the hunger. “How?”

“I. I have a plan.” Jaina pleads with her eyes, imploring him to listen as he meets her gaze. “I went to the Horde.”

Anduin stiffens, staring at her in cautious curiosity. “Jaina?”

Jaina straightens her shoulders, trying to appear more confident than she is and hoping Anduin doesn’t see through all the bravado. “I went to Sylvanas. She is in agreement.”

His chest stills and he eyes her with wide eyes, a spark of something other than the weary leader, more of the young boy who liked to work in the healer’s tent so long ago. “What is your plan?”

“A unity.” She swallows, but presses on, if she can get Anduin behind then the others will follow with little grumbling. “A marriage, to stop this war. If not there will be nothing left but bones and scorched food if we do not stop now.

“You say there is another war coming, we will simply delay the inevitable.” And he looks more worn than anyone his age as a right too. He looks defeated in this moment, that hope snuffing out, hiding so it won't tear his very world apart if it fails.

“No. We can beat them.” She squeezes his hand again. “Together. We can survive Anduin. Aren’t you tired of fighting? Of watching people die?

“Yes. Gods I am Aunty.” There’s tears in his eyes, he had inherited a war, a kingdom and an inability to grieve his father yet.

“Then help me put an end to it.”

Anduin looks up at her with weary eyes. “Genn will not like this.”

“Tides take him!” Jaina’s shout shakes the room and her eyes flash with bright arcane. “I don’t care. He will either follow along or I will force him from his seat and put someone who cares about the future and not revenge.”

“He lost a lot to the Horde Jaina he i-“

“I lost _everything.”_ Jaina trembles, mana in the air, anguish and rage forcing her voice to tremble. “Do not. Do not forget what happened last time I wanted peace.” The word tremble and the very air around them sparks with barely restrained magic. “I am not so naïve now Anduin. I will drag the whole world to peace if I have to.”

Soft earnest eyes find hers, apology in them. “Forgive me, I spoke rashly.”

* * *

* * *

Tension hangs in the air of the room the Alliance and Horde leaders find themselves in, this first meeting there is only Anduin, Genn, Jaina, Sylvanas and her champion Nathanos. Soon many other will join but first an obstacle must be hurtled over, one that involves the banshee queen and the old wolf and grudges that bear ill will toward the future of the unity..

Sylvanas leans against the wall, Nathanos at her side, his red eyes boring into each person, unlike Sylvanas who stares directly at Anduin and Jaina. “I’ll not have another Theramore.” Her words are terse yet echo with the power of a banshee. Jaina barely flinches at the name, Anduin winces, his eyes darting to the mage.

Genn snarls, teeth bare as he whips around to face Jaina. “You’ve told her of our plans!”

Jaina stiffens, narrowing her eyes. “I told her of an idiotic idea to kill _innocents_.”

“None of the Horde are innocent!”

“They have _children_ , same as we do and if you cannot see that then you are the monster here.” Jaina snarls out, glaring at the worgen.

Genn huffs, shoulders slumping and he eyes Jaina with a weary sort of pity. “The Horde is not innocent, they spill innocent blood. Look what they did to Theramo-“

Jaina slams her hands on the table, frost spiraling along the table, heading straight for Genn, completely ignoring Sylvanas and Anduin. “I know what the Horde did to Theramore! I was there, do not try to use Theramore to continue this war. I will not let that happen.”

“It is not up to you to decide Jaina.” Genn grumbles, narrows his eyes at her. “We shall vote when I bring this up in the next meeting.”

“A democracy, how quaint.” Sylvanas goads, bringing the worgen’s ire right back to her.

Genn snarls. “Better than your dictatorship!” Spittle flies from his maw and there is rage and a terrible promise in those dark eyes surrounded by fur. “You give no choice, only take and take! I’m surprised your people haven’t killed you themse-“

“ENOUGH!” The air cools and mana spills into it, Sylvanas stiffens, ears barely twitching, the others do not feel the pressing of the mana, the threat in the air. They are not elven, they cannot taste the potency of it. Nathanos stiffens next to her, his keen eyes watching for any threat, be it Genn or the mage who brought them to this meeting.

“Jaina.” Genn grumbles out. “We canno-“

“ _Quiet_.” Jaina hisses. Glaring at the worgen. “If it was just you all dying I’d send you all out to fight and kill yourselves, but it isn’t just you. It is your people, your soldiers. There are _children_ dying.” There were children in Theramore too. Of all species and all ages. All dead now and she would sooner let the magic in her rip apart those begging for war than watch more children die. “And if that isn’t enough to stop this war then I will _end_ you myself and do all of this on my own.”

Genn blinks in shock. “You can’t mea-“

The frost along the table spreads and Jaina’s voice dips low and dangerous. “I do. I am sick of watching people waste away when they could be saved.” Her voice does not raise in a shout, but the words burn and settle on their shoulder’s like a banshee’s wail. “Our people are going to slowly starve to death-”

Genn presses forward again. “Our rations will last. The-“

“Our rations are half of what is needed to survive.” Jaina’s voice cracks and she is glaring at Genn, desperation in her eyes and mana thick in the air. “They are losing weight and they will continue to do so until they are just walking bone. I will not stand by and watch when I can prevent needless death.”

Genn shakes his head. “You will bring death to our doorstep; this monstrosity will kill all of us to dance on our bones.” Nathanos stiffens, red eyes boring into the worgen leader. “You cannot be so desperate as to welcome-“

“Genn.” Anduin voice is even, but commanding, he had heard enough. Had seen enough. “We will hear them out, we will listen to Jaina and to the Horde and when the time comes, we will make a decision, levelheaded and we will do what will be best for our people.” He motions to the map. “Here are our outposts as you can see Genn, our soldiers are starving.” He motions to many other places across the board, whispering to his advisor. Nipping any retaliating argument the worgen has in the bud. Jaina stands at the table, hands clenched on the side of it, knuckles white as her eyes rove over the pieces that depict their people. Pieces that tell of crops burned and salted, of food caravans stolen or burned. Their people are starving, this war having gone on too long. 

Sylvanas eyes the board with all too knowing eyes, picking up a small piece, wooden and worn, well used and old. A well-loved piece or a piece that was used all too often, a feral grin takes over her place and she speaks snidely. “The Horde would’ve won, inevitable.”

Genn snarls, shoving his chair back to fall with a loud crack against the floor and glaring at the woman. “We would have defeated you. Killed you.”

“I have soldiers who need not eat.” She sets the piece back on the table, eyeing Genn as she uses a flick of her finger to knock the piece over, causing it to knock over a few more pieces. “All of yours would’ve starved eventually.”

“Orgrimmar would be wiped off the map with your dead bastards, I would see to it _myself.”_ Genn snarls, teeth barred and fur standing on end.

 _“Oh.”_ Sylvanas lets out a condescending hum. “So it was the most _loyal_ hound who decided to bomb Orgrimmar. I suspected as much.” And her eyes gleam, she had suspected the old hound of wanting Orgrimmar to burn but it helped knowing that it was him and not the young king.

“Will you two stop!” Jaina grits out, jaw too tight, frost creeping from where her fingers clutch at the table.

Anduin speaks, level head where they have all failed. “I believe I have seen enough, I agree with Jaina. Sylvanas went out on a limb, came into Alliance territory for a meeting that could have been a trap.” Jaina shoots Sylvanas a sharp glare when the woman opens her mouth and the elf shuts it, curious to the outcome. “If Sylvanas and Jaina can both put away their differences, if the two most stubborn women I have ever met tell me how to end the war, I listen to them.” His weary tired eyes search the other four occupants. “I am calling for all leaders of the Alliance and those allied to the alliance here, portals will be opened. Sylvanas, I suggest you do the same to those of the Horde. We will need them all here when we decide to move forward and end this war. I’ll not lose anymore friends or civilians to a war that can be stopped.” He darts his eyes to Genn. “And any that disagree with the end to a tedious war will find themselves out of office. I’ll not let one voice poison the minds of others.”

Sylvanas bares her fang in a sly grin. “Of course Little Lion, my leaders will gladly come here, you simply need only control your hound.” Genn snarls and Anduin shoots him a sharp glare as Jaina does the same to Sylvanas. Nathanos holds in a snort of amusement, but just barely, his lips twitching into a smirk. Sylvanas matches his smirk, a spark of fire dancing in her eyes.

* * *

* * *

Sylvanas leans against the wall of the room, ears straight and unmoving even as her brow twitches in annoyance as she stares at the destroyed chair from Genn’s rage and the knife in the wall from Nathanos when the worgen got too close, to the ice the had speared up from the floor and separated the two men and locked the rest of the Alliance and Horde leaders in their seats. The spot where her dear sister had sat, her ears pressed into her skull and her eyes never looking towards Sylvanas. Sylvanas glares at the empty chair for a moment before darting to the woman who had dragged them all here. “We are essentially each-others jailers.”

Jaina scoffs, pacing the room still, long after everyone else had been banished from it in her rage. “If they think we can stop the other they are sorely mistaken.”

Sylvanas tilts her head to the side, an eyebrow raising in amusement. “Afraid you can’t take me in a fight Proudmoore?”

Jaina huffs out a disbelieving laugh, still pacing the room, mana pouring out of her and causing the ice in the room to glow a soft blue each time she passes it. “You, possibly, you and your rangers? Never.”

“You believe you could take me alone?”

“ _Possibly_ , it would be too close a call. Though I doubt you could defeat me if you came after me alone.” Finally she stops, staring right at Sylvanas, there’s a calculating coldness to her eyes. “I would bide my time, let you grow complacent and then after you’ve used your last Valkyrie I would kill you.”

“Ah so you’ve planed it already.” Despite her voice being casual, Sylvanas keeps a close eye on the mage, waiting for the feel of mana charging in the air. The feel of an attack, black mist curls around her feet, waiting to aid in her defense should the mage attack. Jaina was right, Sylvanas had a slim chance of defeating her, alone in this room as they were.

Jaina scoffs, rolling her eyes before she begins pacing again, her fist clenching and un-clenching over and over, again and again. A slight glow of arcane under her thick gloves. “Just as you do, I have plans for all of the Alliance and Horde leaders.” The woman meets Sylvanas’ eyes and shrugs, looking every bit the battle mage she was. “I like to be prepared.”

“So I’m nothing special then? You wound me Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina lets out a low hum. “You’re the one I had to plan for the most if that helps.”

“I feel honored.” She drawls out with a thick sarcasm, leaning her head against the wall and watching the mage through half lidded eyes, giving the allusion of boredom. “Why mention it in the meeting?”

“They are like children.” Jaina rolls her eyes. “They need a security blanket and telling them we will keep another in check will work for their egos.”

Sylvanas hums, pushing off the wall and stepping in front of the mage as she paces. “And what’s too keep us from actually killing each other?”

Jaina stills, scant few inches from Sylvanas, mana bright eyes boring into Sylvanas’. “We both want our people to survive, by _any_ means necessary.”

“Right you are Proudmoore.” Red eyes glow and the banshee smirks, something wild bleeding into the air around her and as she is wont to do, she pokes the bear. “Give your wife a kiss?”

Jaina looks at her through narrowed eyes. Frost creeping up her now glowing arms. “We’re not married yet, though Nathanos will be less witty than you, should I change my mind.”

“My dear wife, how you wound me.” Sylvanas moves languishly with smooth steps and pulls Nathanos’ knife from the wall, spinning it as she turns to face Jaina again. “Nathanos would cut your tongue from your mouth sooner than kiss it.”

“Then mayhaps I should relieve you of yours.”

Sylvanas chuckles, low and deep in her chest, echoing around the room and reverberating in Jaina’s chest. “You can try little mage, you can certainly try.”


	3. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Tandred stares at Jaina, she looks every bit of sailor as she is bride with dark blue breeches, skintight and hidden under a white and blue tailcoat, cinched around her waist, fitted to her shoulders with the tassels and pins across her chest announcing her rank as Lord Admiral of Kul Tiran and High Archmage of the Fleet. “Why not your armor Jaina?”

Jaina rolls her eyes, finishing buttoning up the coat. “This is a marriage Tan, not war.”

His lips twist wryly into a half grin. “Aren’t all marriages war?”

Jaina chuckles, smoothing her hands along the skirt tails of the coat, straightening out any crinkle. “I have not a clue, never been married before.”

“Me either.” He leans against the vanity, watching as she pulls at the tassel across her chest, brows furrowed, before he moves forward, straightening them for her with an ease born from working small knots on a rocking boat. “Guess you’ll have to tell me then, sister dear, how married life is?”

“It seems dreadful little one, simply dreadful.” Her voice is flat but her lips twitch and Tandred barks out a thick bellied laugh. “It will be well Tan, at least it is not Nathanos.”

Tandred crinkles his nose in distaste. “Ahh, yes. He is a bit. Eh. _Stiff?”_

“Dreadfully so, my wife at least has a sense of humor.” Jaina rolls her eyes. “Dry as it is.”

“Yes yes, too used to bawdy wet humor of the sailors.” Tandred nudges her shoulder with his, catching her eyes in the mirror, the same blue as his own. “Already your wife? Not even married yet.”

Jaina huffs out a sigh. “Might as well get used to saying it, I fear that is all that will keep some of the Alliance in check.”

He scoffs, rubbing at the freshly trimmed beard, still unused to it being trimmed neat and short. “Bunch of greedy little skuas the lot of them.”

Jaina make a sound of amused derision. “Like sharks to a kill.”

He searches her face, the dark circles under her eyes barely hidden by make-up Tess Greymane had pressed into her hand. Her hair is pull into an intricate updo of curls and a few small braids, the small bit of gold mixing with the white. His sister is dressed in splendor but looks so tired, his heart ache for her. The linchpin in a treaty where both sides were too suspicious for their own good. “ _Ah._ Blood on the water?”

“So, it seems.”

His blue eyes, the same eyes they once shared with Derek, search worriedly over her, her broad shoulders are near bony and her hands shake and tremble despite her desperation to hide it. “You look tired Jaina.”

“All will be well Tandred.” Her voice is sharp, every bit of Lord Admiral their Grandfather was. “It has to be.”

“Why must you shoulder the burden?” He steps forward, ducking his head until he catches her gaze, he has a few inches on her, every bit of broad and tall Kul Tiran sailor. “I. I know I have been gone awhile, but you have me when you need me.”

“I have-“ Jaina blinks away tears and swallows thickly. “It has been a long time since I have had family, it will take a while to get used to Tan.”

“I am sorry. I know that mothe-”

Jaina cuts him off sharply. “I didn’t expect her to be here, I knew she hated the thought." Pain twists her face up and she looks wreaked, like her chest was ripping open. "After. After father she sees the Horde as his murderers, sees me as the one who brought him there.” She shakes off Tandred’s hand on her shoulder.

“Jai-“

“It is fine Tandred.” Her fingers tremble before she clasps his elbow, squeezing gently. Her fingers still tremble against his skin and he can spot the little scars that cover her hands, like lightning in the sky. They mar her from fingertips to shoulders, if not more that he had not seen, hidden under layers upon layers of protection. She hides them well but Tandred had always been better at catching things, even as he makes a fool of himself, better the attention on him than Jaina. “She is not wrong that he was there for me.”

Tandred moves slow, letting her see him reach for her hand, before his large calloused fingers squeeze her own gently. The trembling ceases in his steady grip. “But he could have _listened_ , he didn’t need to fight.”

“He was a Proudmoore through and through.” Jaina’s voice cracks and her eyes shine but she shakes it off with an ease born from years of hiding. “Stubborn ‘til the end.”

“Aye, but we’ll be better than he or mother, we’ll learn. We’ll change and do what needs to be done.” Tandred holds out a small blue shell, polished to shine, but asymmetrical. Something he had found himself, not bought. “Something blue and from the sea, you need it here, so far from the sea on your wedding day.”

She runs her thumb over the smooth polished surface, her skin catches on a small groove. It is a crooked lumpy little thing, but it is as bright as arcane and reminds her too much of digging through the sandy shore with Tandred and Derek as children. Their pants rolled up high, salt drying in their hair and skin freckling under the harsh sun as their hair brightens in the sunlight. “Thank you Tandred.”

”Of course, are you ready?” He holds out his elbow, gentle eyes searching over Jaina.

“As I’ll ever be.” She slips her hand into the crook of his arm. “Let’s go get married.”

“Alas unless you are marrying me to dear Nathanos, it will simply be you getting married today.”

Jaina snorts but shakes her head. “Now wouldn’t that be a sight little one.”

“Mayhaps I’ll loosen him up a bit?” Tandred grins wickedly and Jaina shoves him away with a deep laugh, the laughter making her cheeks flush with mirth and joy.  
  


* * *

Tandred walks her down the aisle, though it be more of a divide, a canyon with danger on all sides. Eyes bore into the mage, the Horde on one side and Alliance on the other. Wary glances are thrown all around and Jaina darts her eyes around, searching for threats before her eyes find Sylvanas. The woman is not in armor, but she is dressed in a dark purple of what looks to be a military dress uniform. It is not the shining bawdy uniform elves loved so much. It was more practical and dark colored than she had seen at an elven wedding. Thick dark boots cleaned until they shine, dark violet, near black pants with trims of green and a dress coat with hints of red along the sleeves and shoulder. Silver pins line the left breast, denoting ranks unknown to those of the Alliance. Her pale hair, just shy of gold blonde is pulled into braids that weave around her head and her ears are pointed high, alert and intent as she watches Jaina walk to her.

At her back Nathanos stands stiffly, face impassive but just as regal in his dark breeches and tight fitted waistcoat. He watches the crowd warily and his eyes almost narrow when they come to Jaina before he skips over her and continues to monitor the gathering. Tandred’s arm is steady in hers and he bows when he comes to leave Jaina near Sylvanas. The people around them wait with baited breath and Anduin swallows thickly from his spot between Sylvanas and Jaina. “Well Little Lion?” Sylvanas intone dryly, breaking the oppressive silence.

“Ah. Yes. Apologies.” He smiles and looks so young in that moment. “I would first like to thank everyone that is here. Today will be a tremendous day in history, we will look back many years from now in joy and today will be the day that changed our factions for the better.” He smiles and looks around, stares at the tensions filling the groups and tries to ease it best he can. “I will try not to bore everyone here.” He gathers very few laughs at his joke before he clears his throat and begins. “We are gathered here to bear witness to the marriage between Lord Admiral of Kul Tiran, Archmage, and High Advisor to the Alliance, Jaina Proudmoore, and the Banshee Queen, Warchief of the Horde and Queen of the Forsaken, Sylvanas Windrunner. This marriage will mark the Unity of the Horde and the Alliance, from this point on we will no longer be a separate faction, we will work together and overcome whatever odds we may face.”

He motions his hand to Tandred and Tandred steps forward, a bowl of sea water in his hands, gathered and protected from impurity of land by his own hands, blood of her blood. “With this water let the Tide’s Mother bless this union. May she watch over this marriage and ease the storms that will brew. May you find safe harbor in one another and weather any storm the future will bring.” Tandred’s voice is as steady as his hands on the wheel of the ship. Steady as his shoulders in a storm and his Kul Tiran accent is thick and welcoming so far from the sea.

Jaina dips her fingers into the water, it is cold to the touch and feels like home on her skin. She lets the water pool in her palm before moving to hold her hand near Sylvanas. Her long ears twitch but they had discussed customs and they knew the plans. Slowly Jaina carefully drips the water down Sylvanas’ face. It races down her forehead and nose, collecting like tears across the arch of her cheeks before coming to drip off her face. Red eyes glow brightly under the water and Jaina’s heart stutters, the sea was where Kul Tirans were born. The sea was where they died and the sea by which they married. Salt water collects on the pale lashes, making glowing red eyes all the brighter.

Sylvanas dips her hand into the water, and she gracefully moves to pour the water in her hand down Jaina’s face and it is cold and startling, wet like tears but cold where they were hot. The water slips easily down her face and drips to the floor. The water, from which only their hand dared touch is poured into two small glass vials, Jaina corks one and slips the leather cord that holds the vial over Sylvanas’ head and Sylvanas does the same for Jaina, the vials coming to rest on their chest. Clear and untainted, seawater that would only be returned to the sea should their marriage dissolve.

Anduin lets the quiet brew before he motioning to Nathanos. The human ranger stepping forward with silk held in his gloved hands and voice a gravel tone, soothing and near hypnotic. “In the sun we grow and are reborn, let the sun bless this union and bind these two together.”

Jaina holds her arm out and Sylvanas take it, gripping at her elbow, both of their hands still wet with the chilled salt water and Sylvanas’ chest moves, stutters like it once had in life when she was nervous. Silk, a ribbon of blue and a ribbon of purple, are woven together round and round until the knot is tucked into their interwoven arms by Nathanos with a reverence born from years and years of care. The sunlight glints off the expensive silk, shining until golden mana inlays shine bright and bold, activated by the sun and the mana that bled in the air around them. When the lines of gold finish racing their way through the silk they dull until they are a soft silver woven into the fabric. And slowly Jaina and Sylvanas unwind the ribbons of silk, the only two allowed to touch them now and Jaina winds the blue ribbon around Sylvanas left wrist, until the purple skin is covered in the blue and silver silk. Sylvanas does the same to Jaina, winding it until the purple seems to overcome her pale scarred forearm. Their sleeves are rolled up and buttoned above the silk, letting all those around see the bindings of an elven wedding.

The fire burns bright in between the two brides, seeming to grow brighter and Nathanos continues, voice deep and calling for a reverent attention. “Let the fire burn away the past, let it burn away what you wish not to take into this marriage. Let it burn away the rage, resentment, and agony. Let the past fall away and let the fire rebirth your future. With these ashes we shall not forget the past but learn from it.” Sylvanas grips something tight in her fist before dropping it into the fire, it is a bright color that is easily eaten away by the flames. Jaina holds tight to what is in her hand, before dropping it into the fire and watching it burn. The ache in her chest resonates deep within her and she sees the same look on Sylvanas’ face. They watch the flames die and then, with the ashes still warm, they dip their fingers into the bowl and mark one another.

Sylvanas drags her finger in a single line under each eye and then down, following the arch of Jaina’s cheek. She ends it before the touch of Jaina’s lips. Jaina presses her trembling ashen finger to Sylvanas’ face, aware of the dark marks like tear tracks on her face, she steers clear of them, unwilling to mark them and drags her thumb from the banshee’s bottom lip and down her chin. The line thick and dark even against the purple skin. The air is thick in the silence, as if the crowd is waiting for an explosion and then Anduin breaks it, gently as he does everything in life, his voice is deep and steady, so like his father’s before him. “Let it be known that Jaina Proudmoore and Sylvanas Windrunner are of one house now, that they shall bear no ill will towards one another. They shall care for one another and their own as one house and any who dare object and try to damage their union will face the full wrath of the Horde and Alliance. For from this day forward we are _one.”_

* * *

* * *

They stand outside, fires burning around them to fight the chill and light the way. Arches of flowers and silk periodically dot the space, with the sun creeping low in the sky it paints the gathering in orange hues even as the moon slowly shows, despite the presence of a slowly dimming sunset. The pull of the full moon thick in the blood of the Kul Tirans, Jaina closes her eyes and feels the pull of the tide, eyes glowing blue with the arcane that races through her body, arcane that makes her head spin and stomach lurch, like a good dive before hitting the sea. There’s the bite of pain along her scars like the bite of the cold sea, but it is as familiar to her as the sound of the waves and a rocking boat beneath her. Elves of all factions stiffen before their eyes find Jaina and Tandred makes a low amused sound. “I feel like we’re in the forbidden bars back home and you’ve just walked out on stage.”

Jaina opens her eyes and glares at her brother. “ _Tandred_.”

He grin’s sheepishly, looking too much like Derek in that moment, eyes bright and grin hidden behind his cup. “I’m just sayin’, looks like hungry wolves all around.”

Jaina hums. “Say that in front of Genn, _please_.”

Tandred rolls his eyes and snorts. “Sharks in the water then.”

Jaina scoffs out a chuckle. “And I am the bleeding morsel awaiting their flashing teeth.”

Tandred lets out a dreamy sigh, eyeing the elves that have their ears pricked towards his sister, their glowing eyes on her. “Alas if only I could have elves at my beck and call.”

Jaina rolls her eyes, sipping at the sweet water Tandred had brought her, both steering clear of the alcohol, remembering their father and the smell of rum on his breath. All sailors had a story or two involving rum and Jaina liked to forget the way rum smells on the breath and how glass feels underfoot. “There are many here who would do well to dance with the High Admiral of the Kul Tiran Navy.”

“Aye, with you married off I’ll be fightin’ off proposals left and right.” Tandred grins, wicked and as full of mischief as when they were children. Mischief that often led to their rears tanned raw and being locked away in their rooms for the night. “Your wife comes this way, I’ll go fine Nathanos, see if I can loosen the stiffness out of him.” And with a kiss to her cheek, he is gone. Jaina fights the urge to yell caution at her brother, too used to his antics as children.

Sylvanas comes stalking like a predator to her new wife, the dark ash mark on her lower lip and chin cast shadows in the fading sunlight and she looks like a person anew, wholly different than the Warchief of the Horde she'd forged an agreement with in the forest. “Hello wife.”

“Sylvanas.”

“Saved me a dance?” Sylvanas has mirth dancing in those red eyes, muted but just as dangerous as a riptide. “Come now dear wife, it is bad luck to leave a wedding without dancing.”

Jaina sips at her sweet water, eyes catching the blue silk along Sylvanas’ forearm, as blue as Jaina’s own eyes. “Hmm. Any wedding or your wedding?”

“All weddings, haven’t you heard?” And there’s the dangerous glint in her eyes, so familiar yet so new. “Elves are creatures of grandeur, we must display our splendor many times over.”

“This includes dancing?” Jaina takes the offered hand, better to show a united front than split the sides of an already tense union.

“Of course, elves love their arts.” And her lips pull back in a half smirk, light reflecting off the fang she exposes, danger flashes like the sun glinting off a shark’s white belly, when you see it you're already in it’s clutches. “And showing off.”

“Of course.” They spin to the sound of the music, high and lilting, nothing like the deep bass of Kul Tiran, the rowdy drunkards would soon control the music, once the moon was high and the alcohol deep in their blood. Creatures of the moon and sea they were, just as the elves were of the sun and forests. She spies Tandred, his strong arms clutched around Nathanos’ shoulders, spinning the forsaken man with all the grace of a wounded newborn foal. Jaina snorts, and is relieved that Tandred had come, else she would have been stiff and stern and worried this whole time. Tandred made things easier, life brighter. The wedding without him may as well have been a prison sentence as Sylvanas alluded to. Sylvanas follows her gaze and her ears twitch high and her eyebrows raise and there’s a deep chuckle in her chest. “Nathanos may be swift on his feet but I had forgotten how he dances.”

“I take it dancing is not in his skillset?”

“Never.” Sylvanas watches him and there’s this bittersweet memory tugging at her, a memory forgotten in all the pain of death and being risen, the pain and fog of being controlled and then suddenly free. The memory is of a Nathanos younger and full of blood and life, his cheeks red with a blush and a young Velonara dragging him to the dance floor. When he had first started and all the others in her troop had steered clear of the very male, very human ranger. Velonara had been young and brash, unafraid and daring. Nathanos had been stern and militant but just as young and too nervous for his own good. It had been an unlikely friendship.

The song ends and Anduin steps forward, bowing low at his waist and pulling Sylvanas from a memory she had long since forgotten, a time before death and rebirth. A time before pain was all she thought she knew. “May I have this next dance?” Genn hovers over his shoulder, stiff and glaring.

Sylvanas tilts her head to Jaina and they both dip their heads in agreement. Sylvanas moves to deposit Jaina’s hand in the Little Lion’s hand but Anduin easily and skillfully eases Jaina’s hand into Genn’s and takes Sylvanas’ into his. Genn stiffens and Jaina spins him away, a little arcane helping her move away from them. Sylvanas stiffens but allows the boy king to dance, he is too nervous, nearly stepping on her toes and she takes the lead from him easily, with all the flourish of her elven youth days. He eases, following along and Sylvanas’ feels curiosity at the ease at which the king gives up control. “Apologies for stealing you away from Jaina, Lady Windrunner.”

“Better you than the dog Little Lion.”

“Yes, Genn is.” Anduin winces and his smile is awkward. “Very old and very biased, we will be allowing the younger generation to take charge.”

She spins the King around the room easily, catching sight of Nathanos shoving Velonara into Tandred Proudmoore’s arms, his red eyes bright with annoyance. “You speak as if you are not the youngest leader here.”

His eyes dart to the floor and his chest stills even as his feet remain steady, years and years of lessons. “I often forget how young I am. I feel centuries old one day and then like I’m thirteen again the next.”

Sylvanas hums and fights the urges and instincts, Anduin smelt young and alive, reminded her too much of Lirath, young, blonde and too brash for his size. Young and in need of guidance lest he fall folly to the ways of the young and bold. “Even century old elves act like children fighting over a toy, the folly of the old and biased.”

“Yes, well with you and Jaina changing things I have decided we must move from the past. Tess Greymane will lead in her father’s stead.”

Her ears do not twitch but it is a near thing. Barely hours into the marriage and already the Alliance seemed to be split. “Should you be spilling secrets to me?”

Anduin shakes his head, brows furrowed as he watches something over Sylvanas’ shoulders before focusing back on her. “It is not a secret; it will come up in the next meeting. We are. Well Jaina is family, this marriage makes you family now and I have so little of them.” He looks older and wiser than his years but so young in this moment. He is thinner too, than the last time she saw him in battle. How must the masses look if their king is just as thin. Sylvanas eyes the people around them, the servants, passing out food and alcohol are just as thin as the king, but there are some royals, decked in splendor and gold, who have plumpness to their cheeks, it is easy to tell who eats as their people do and who starve those in the streets. It is unsurprising that Anduin eats as his people do. Too good for his own health.

“And when is the next meeting?”

“A month or two after your wedding.” His smile is the charming one that held youthfulness and all the goodness he could muster, as if he could make the factions hug it out like errant children. “I wanted to give the masses time to settle.”

Sylvanas eyes the food around them, it is not as grand as the days of her Ranger General years. There is more alcohol than food, yet most slip more morsels of food into their mouths than sips of alcohol. “What of the food shortages?”

“We are on half rations.” Anduin’s face is tight, leadership weighing heavy on him. “We have enough to keep half rations for five years as long as we stick to the plans.”

“And those who do not?”

His smile is terse. “There is a reason I have invited so many here.”

Sylvanas blinks, eyebrow arching in a shocked amusement. “A ploy Little King, to see who take care of their people and who spoils themselves.”

“Not a ploy, but a happy _coincidence_.” And his eyes shine bright like a fox springing a trap.

She snorts, spinning him again, not as full of flourish as she had spun Jaina but just as graceful. “I must admit I had not expected such from you.”

“Yes, well it was a combination of Jaina nearly obliterating a royal concession that began to complain about rations when they visited and Tess’ guidance.” He stills. “How are your people? I know hunting is scarce, something is forcing the game to flee.”

“My rangers are apt at hunting in any condition.” Her jaw clenches. “But we have suffered as your people have. War does not bode well for food storage.”

“No, it does not. How long?” There is genuine concern in his face, as if he hadn’t been fighting on the opposite side of her people for the last couple of years. As if they have always been allies.

“We have begun half rations," Her voice is terse, half rations were barely a step above starving. "And will survive half starved for a few years.”

“This does not bode well with Jaina’s warnings.”

“A war with creature of the deep to come.” Sylvanas hums, eyes narrowed. There is no surprise on his face, simply anguish.

“Yes, I fear for our people." There is only truth in his eyes, the wedding having cemented his loyalty to Sylvanas' people, as if his loyalty was so easy to give and receive. "Perhaps if we had stopped sooner it would not be as bad.”

Sylvanas’ red eyes dim, and her voice is deep with regret and pain. “We cannot change the past, as much as we wish Little Lion.”

* * *

Jaina spins Genn far away from Sylvanas and Anduin, her eyes bright arcane blue until she release her magical hold on him. “Hello Genn.”

“Jaina.” His voice is a deep rumble and under his thick fur his muscles had weakened, despite looking large and imposing, he is starving just as they are. “This farce will be the death of the Alliance, you will not survive it.”

“Is that a threat Genn?” Jaina’s eyes glow blue for a moment, hands cold against his.

He grunts in disbelief. _“No,_ you should have listened to me.” There is the same desperation that was in his eyes as when he raced to save his son, the desperation of wanting to be on time but knowing you were already too late. “This will not end well, the Banshee is a liar, she will kill us all, starting with you.”

“It has been decided Genn, do not make enemies of us.” She feels for him, the way loss weighs heavy on your shoulders, how it nearly drags you under like a current. Barely able to keep your head above the water, yet she was willing to try once more for peace where Genn had been burned and demanded the world burn with him. “Anyone who breaks the treaty will die, you know this. You signed off on this.”

“My hands forced by Anduin and _you.”_ He grumbles out, his large hands tightening on hers. “I would have slit her throat and burned them to the ground!” The growl rumbles in his throat and a hand, purple and cold lands on a furred shoulder. Genn spins with a snarl, teeth bared.

Nathanos tilts his head impassively as he ignores the angered worgen. “May I dance with you Lord Admiral?”

Genn snarls, saliva flinging from his maw as he snaps his teeth at the forsaken ranger. “You can shove yo-“

With a wave of her hand Jaina silences Genn, numbing his vocal chords. “You may, Genn please think over your choices. Our people are dying, do not make this worse.” He stalks away and Nathanos takes her hand, he is as cold as Sylvanas and remembering Tandred and Nathanos' awful dancing, she leads. Nathanos scowls but falls into step and Jaina nearly smirks, she has two inches on the man and she can tell he hates it. “My gratitude for interrupting.”

He grunts, lips pressed into a frown. “My Queen would not have you murder someone at your wedding.”

Jaina spins him with all the flourish of the ballroom dancing her mother had force upon her, making Nathanos keep high on his toes to spin with her. “And she told you to come here I suppose?”

He scowls, eyes darting near imperviously to his feet before he pulls them back up, glaring at her. “No.”

Jain feels a childlike need to annoy burn in her, a need she thought long since lost with Derek. “So you read your Queen’s mind then?”

“No.” He bites out.

“Ah, a contingency plan then?” She keeps her voice cajoling even as she increases the tempo of their dance. “Keep the Daughter of the Sea occupied, be sure she doesn’t kill officials.”

“No.” He growls out, face impassive even as his hands tighten along hers to keep up.

“Have I frozen your vocal chords as well?” Her hands frost over yet he does not react. Impassivity incarnate. “You only seem to know one word.”

He scowls at her and there is a dance in his eyes. _“No.”_

Jaina nearly snorts, here she was teasing Nathanos Blightcaller, if she was dreaming this was something she couldn’t even come up with drugged. “How was dancing with my brother?”

He scowls at her, stepping on her toe, on purpose or not she ignores it, too used to little annoyances from Tandred. “He moves like a ship.”

Jaina nearly laughs but settles for poking fun at her brother. “One in a storm you mean?”

He blinks at her blandly, yet there is a spark of mirth in those glowing eyes. “Yes.”


	4. Marriage, Mana and Mayhem oh my

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts off with Sylvanas at the end of Chapter two then to the wedding at end of Chapter three.

Sylvanas pops out of the shadows, where Nathanos waits for her, his body tense as a taut bow string. “Champion.”

He relaxes when he spots her, darting his eyes behind her to the meeting room, empty, ice still splitting from the floor and the chair broken on the floor, the hole in the wall where his knife rested. No Jaina Proudmoore in sight, yet there is the hint of arcane in the air, fading slowly with the mage’s departure. “Dark Lady.”

They stare at one another both their faces impassive before Nathanos lets out a huff as Sylvanas drags a wet stone along the knife in her hand, deliberately drawing his attention to the knife and away from the room. “May I have my knife back my Queen?”

She continues to sharpen the knife in her hand, humming lowly. “What does this knife of yours look like?”

He blinks at her with a bland expression, face placid. “It is a Damascus blade with a bone handle, I was gifted it by a dear friend who has since departed the living world.”

Sylvanas keeps her eyes on Nathanos’ face even as she sharpens the knife, there’s a fire dancing in her eyes, playful and always so dangerous. “Hmm. Tell me of this dear friend, perhaps I know of them.”

“She was a stubborn witch of a woman who continues to vex me to this day.” He grumbles out, hands tucked into the small of his back in a parade rest. Always so formal, even after so many years among the rangers.

“You shouldn’t talk of Anya like that.” She tsks, her voice low and gravelly. “Especially when she cannot defend herself dear Nathanos.”

Nathanos scoffs, rolling his eyes. “We both know Anya is more of an asshole than a stubborn witch.” He glares at the knife in Sylvanas’ hand. “The knife, my queen?”

“What is it the human’s saying, _possession_ is nine tenths of the law?” She then twirls the knife in her hand, much like she’d done when she was talking with Jaina scant minutes ago and if they weren’t alone, they wouldn’t be this way, not with prying judging eyes. Always judging, even when they did nothing they were hated, and anything more than a blank expression earned them disgust and rebuttal from the living. “You seem not to have it in your possession therefor how is it yours?”

He barely contains his huff, blinking placidly at her, like a parent too used to their child’s antics. “And do the elven have a saying as well, _my queen?”_

“Any weapon can be your weapon.” She spins the knife along her fingers, never touching the blade but spinning faster and faster, a parlor trick she’d once taught Vereesa, when she was the Lady Moon to her Little Moon. “You need only use it.”

He tilts his head curiously, watching her ears and eyes. She remains impassive, death had taken those little quirks from her, any weakness she thought hidden away, for Arthas would use whatever weakness she had to hurt her, if only because he could when he had her. “So you plan on using it my queen?”

She hums again before tossing it in the air, Nathanos catches it easily as it flips toward him. “Next time you have permission to draw blood, Proudmoore seems just as vexed by the mutt as we are.”

He stiffens. “Proudmoore is _Alliance_.”

Sylvanas begins towards the courtyard, voice low enough not to be overheard. “Oh _yes_ , but she did threaten to kill all of us if we didn’t go through with peace, the dog seems to think her joking.”

He checks the blade over for any knicks caused by throwing it at Greymane and hitting the wall behind him. “And you?”

Sylvanas shoots him a fang filled grin, so like when they hunted all those years ago, cheeks once flushed red from the heat of the sun and exertion of running through the forest. “I think her at the edge of a knife.”

He rolls his eyes, huffing as he now polishes the knife, not even watching where he steps as he follows alongside his queen. “You did like sharp things in your youth.”

“Hmm. You never knew me in my _youth_.”

“No.” His lips twitch into a smile before he forces it back into passivity. “But Anya has stories.”

She flashes him fangs, eyes dark. “Of course she does. Shall we go home? We have much to plan, they want the wedding to happen as soon as possible.”

“Shall Anya be your honor binder?”

Sylvanas shakes her head, shooting a glare to her champion. “We both know you fill that roll, Nathanos, must I stroke your ego?”

He preens like a bird, shoulders drawn back as his lips twitch, there’s a gleam in his eyes as familiar as when they were once green, he so does like to spar verbally. “My ego is in need of stroking, especially if I am forced to _dance_ at the wedding.”

Sylvanas grins, a sharp thing. “I’ll be sure to have Velonara save you a dance.”

Nathanos blinks and his eyes go soft, the red dimming in memories. “Vel hasn’t danced in a while.”

Sylvanas near stumbles before catching herself and there is a fog that seems to have lifted for a moment. “Yes, the little bird so did like your dancing.”

Nathanos very carefully hooks the knife back to his hip and tries to get that pain out of her eyes and his heart. “Shall we prepare for the wedding Sylvanas?”

“Oh, course dear Nathanos, it is not every day your queen marries.”

He snorts. “I should hope not, lest my memories fail me.”

“Hm no, I believe our memories to be.” She frowns, eyes clouded with emotions that had been buried for so long, learning their emotions like an injured bird learning to fly again. _“Adequate_.”

He blinks and his eyes grow hazy and the pain aches deep and throbbing in his chest, where his heart once beat. “The last. The last wedding, Vorel. She had the white and silver binding and.” He brow furrows. “My memories, they are not.”

_“Arlis.”_ Sylvanas’ voice is gruff. “Arlis, our little _songbird_.”

Nathanos closes his eyes, a hum starting in his throat before he shakes himself from it. “Arlis. Yes. She fell, the gates with.” He shudders, hands twitching before they grip the hilt of the knife. “Little Tera.” He swallows thickly and comes to a stop, his chest shuddering with shaky breaths, a habit from days alive, once a necessity and an unconscious act. “Little Tera fell with Arlis, she was a child. We. We could not.”

Sylvanas grips his shoulder, her eyes burning bright and boring into his own. “With me Nathanos, not the memories.”

“Yes.” He blinks, coming out of his haze, his hand trembles where it grips the knife. “I am here.”

“Come.” Her voice is unusually soft as she squeezes his shoulder, her own fingers trembling at the memories that haunt them all. “Let us go home.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Sylvanas leans against the wall behind her, the building old and the stonework cold, the night air leaching the warmth from them. Soon the wedding festivities would move into the old castle but for now the rowdy bunch continue to drink and dance, the sun disappearing behind the horizon slowly. Anduin makes his rounds, having bowed to Sylvanas after their dance. His eyes full of hope and determination. He talks to Horde and Alliance alike, the ever-present smile on his face and even dances with some more of the Horde, he is not tense, nor does he look over his shoulder in fear. He is calm and trusting.

Tandred dances with Velonara, laughing as she leads him in a dance, the man flushed with exertion. Vereesa keeps her eyes on Jaina, cautious and pained as she hides at one of the far tables, the children missing notably. She would not bring them here, not with the Horde, not with Sylvanas here and that aches more than anything, Sylvanas had not seen Arator since he was young, had not seen the twins. All that is left of the Windrunners and Sylvanas is close to none of them. She squeezes the glass of water in her hand, near breaking it before she controls herself and sweeps her gaze back over the reception.

Greymane, glaring and angry, bores holes into Nathanos, where he is being twirled by Jaina, there’s drool on his maw and murder in his eyes while Vereesa sets a calming hand to his forearm. Vereesa had yet to speak to either Jaina or Sylvanas at the wedding, sticking close to Greymane and steering clear of everything Horde. Alleria is conspicuously absent, having sent a champion in her stead at both the meeting and the wedding. In the shadows the fires creates, her rangers observe the party. Mar sticks close to the food, eyeing all the servers and watching every little morsel of food offered to Jaina. Vorel is nowhere to be found, unsurprising as she hated the festivities of weddings, while Alina rests atop the castle like a stone gargoyle, still as ever, eyes sharp and focused. Sylvanas eyes the shadows, seeing her rangers periodically and keeping relaxed, nothing would go wrong with her rangers around her. There is a shrill bird call and Sylvanas stiffens, stepping back into the shadows.

Voice hard and eyes even harder Sylvanas growls out an order. “Report.”

Anya materializes from the shadows. “Three assassination attempts already.”

Sylvanas hums, eyes glowing brighter. “Only _three_? I thought they despised me more.” Anya’s ears flinch, barely a twitch but Sylvanas spots it. “Anya?”

Anya’s ears flicker again, always so expressive and her voice is low. “They weren’t for you, they were for the Lord Admiral.”

A low rumble, dangerous and trembling sounds in Sylvanas chest. “Who?”

Anya face is twisted in annoyance, her lips pulling back and letting her fangs flash. “No ties, all human so they could be from any of the kingdoms, could be Kul Tiras, maybe some leftover sympathizes from the Menethil family. They had _nothing_ on them, no tattoos, nothing arcane and their clothes were generic dress clothing, one posed as waitstaff.”

Sylvanas’ fingers the hidden dagger on her hip, they were supposed to be unarmed, but Jaina was a weapon in her own right and Sylvanas would not be vulnerable again, she would not fall prey to men who thought they knew best. “Were they healthy or thin?”

“Mix, two were thin as the populous.” Anya tips her head back, eyes flickering as she watches one of the rangers jump from pillar to pillar. “The other wasn’t. He was healthy, plump. A nobleman’s son most likely.”

Sylvanas rolls her eyes. “Belore take me, they want her dead more than me?”

Anya stiffens, her teeth barred. “They can blame it on you, most likely they will. The Lord Admiral is the one who started this, she came to _you_. They take her out and everything crumbles.” Anya snarls, eyes darting to Vereesa and Genn, both of whom watch Jaina dance. “Greymane will blame the Horde right away, why would the Alliance ever suspect one of their own killed her?”

“I get Menethil supporters.” And Sylvanas trembles at saying that name, haunted but she would not give him that power over her, no she would not cower at the utterance of his name. “Why Kul Tiras?”

Anya swallows, eyebrows dipping low. “Del did some snooping, her mother sentenced her to death some time ago. Her country and mother blame her for her father’s and their sailors deaths in Theramore. To them she betrayed her father and her country, yet she now leads as Lord Admiral, bound to be a few who do not agree with that.”

Sylvanas grits her teeth, she went into this marriage thinking she would have to look over her own shoulder, that she would be on guard but now it seemed she had to be on guard for her wife as well. Belore take her, it seemed even in death her luck was always on the short end. “So it seems we must worry more for my wife than myself.”

Anya scoffs, hand tight along the knife at her hip. “They’re so short-sighted, humans.”

“Only some, after all it was Lady Proudmoore that wanted the alliance.” Sylvanas cants her ears and listens, they hide in the shadows and none had seen or heard them, yet. “Has anyone else noticed you?”

“No, the Alliance have their watchers but none of them are us.” They both dart their eyes to the spot across the courtyard, where they can barely make out an Alliance spy, she has yet to see them it seems. “And the people are too focused on her brother. He makes a spectacle of himself.” They watch as Tandred lets Velonara spin him, round and round as he roars with laughter. His steps are gaited and near drunk. He had touched no alcohol that night, neither had Jaina, yet he acts the drunken fool. “He keeps the eyes on him, off his sister. Smart ploy, works in our favor.”

“Good, do we have rangers on Proudmoore?”

Anya’s eyes dance, the hardness in them easing. “Nathanos is dancing with her right now.”

_“Still?”_ Sylvanas peaks out of the shadows and spots them. Jaina is leading, few inches taller than Nathanos and loving every minute of the torment. Nathanos catches their eye but ignores them, sans a flick of his fingers in leu of ears. He had spotted the assassins too and was sticking to Proudmoore. “I suppose I should go save him from her hold.” There’s a soft bird call, too musical to be the real thing but fooling the drunk and those untrained by Sylvanas.

Anya’s smile is all teeth and deadly promise. “Vorel may have another assassin, she went chasing after a woman.”

Sylvanas bares her fangs back in a vicious smile. “Let’s go hunting then.”

* * *

They find Vorel in a closet, a human woman tied up, mouth covered and wild eyes searching the shadows. Vorel keeps fading into smoke, to materialize in a new spot and make the human moan and cry out. She’s cursing her in Gutterspeak, weaving deadly promises before switching over to common, with just as deadly threats. “Already had your fun Rel?”

Vorel slips out of the shadows, form solidifying suddenly to the left of the human, fangs bared and red eyes vicious as she lets loose a feral snarl, the human trembles. “She won’t talk so I possessed her a bit.”

“A bit?” Anya scoffs, looking at the shadows under the assassin’s eyes, the black veins around her neck that spoke of possession. “You know we can’t leave traces, they’ll use anything to condemn us.”

“I’ll burn the body.” Vorel’s grin is macabre even as she now walks around the human, fingers brushing along the small bits of flesh exposed by her clothing. “She seems like a screamer. A pleader.” The human whimpers, trembling.

Sylvanas slips forward, her red eyes far brighter than Vorel’s and danger bleeding into the air. “If you scream Vorel will possess you again and I will let her do as she pleases, you understand?” The human nods frantically and Anya steps out to watch the door. Sylvanas slips the cloth from the human’s lips, pulling out a wad of clothing, soaked in spit from her mouth, she sneers at the human. “Now tell me, who sent you?” The human trembles. “Tell me, now. Why would you try to kill Proudmoore?”

“Please. I don’t know anything. I didn’t. Please.” Tears slip down her face and she sobs, snot dripping down her face.

Vorel scoffs, and her left ear flicks down twice then up. Sylvanas hums, low and curious before kneeling and taking the human’s chin in her fingers. “ _Really_ now? Vorel here saw different, tell the truth or we’ll _dig_ it out.” Sylvanas lets her claws dig into the human’s skin then.

The human’s demeanor changes, and she jerks her chin out of Sylvanas hold, her eyes bright with rage now, no more tears and she bares her teeth at them in a weak attempt at a snarl, she had no fangs, like a pup baring teeth against a wolf. “She ran to the Horde once again and we will all suffer for it again. She will _die_ , I promise you this.” And there is a soft pop before the human, with a furious grin, bites down on something. Vorel lets out a rage filled shout, fades into smoke and slips into the woman. The woman thrashes as the smoke overtakes her before stilling and Vorel solidifies with a cry as the human’s heart stops.

Sylvanas catches her, her dead heart dropping and terror replacing the rage. “What were you thinking?! You know to never possess someone that close to death.”

Vorel trembles, weak and half lucid as she clings to Sylvanas. “She was too smug, _bitch_.” She trembles, her body fading and reforming in Sylvanas' arms. “There’s another one here, her partner, mage. Release a mana bomb whe-when she doesn’t check in.”

Sylvanas stills before gripping Vorel’s face and connecting their eyes, Vorel blinks blearily up at her but focuses on her queen. “You’ve a face Rel?”

“Bright green eyes, scar through left eyebrow. Don’t know much else.”

“Good.” Sylvanas presses her forehead to Vorel’s. “Good job Ranger, though I’ll berate you when you feel better.”

Vorel groans as Anya slips inside the door, startling at Vorel’s weak state. “Belore Rel, what did you _do_?”

“Let Loralen look at her.” Sylvanas eases Vorel into Anya’s hold. “I’ll get Vel and we’ll find the next assassin.”

Anya shakes her head, easing Vorel out of Sylvanas’ arms with a gentleness she saves for her fellow rangers only. “You’re one of the brides, front and center Syl, gotta get out there.”

Sylvanas snarls but nods. She presses her forehead back to Vorel’s. “By the sun’s blessing Rel, do not die on me.”

“I’ll fight death again, fucking let me at it.” Vorel grumbles out as Anya heaves her up into a bridal carry.

Sylvanas presses her forehead to Anya’s, lets out a shuddering breath, hidden from all eyes she lets herself be weak in this moment. Her rangers had followed her in life and in death, she could not lose them. Damn anyone who tried to take them from her. “Stay safe.”

“Swift as an arrow, I’ll send Mar after the body.”

Sylvanas nods and straightens out her coat, making sure she looks presentable before stepping into the shadows by the closet and disappearing before suddenly appearing in the shadows of the dance floor cast by the fires burning all around them, the darkness outside helping hide her. She taps on Velonara’s shoulder, flicks her ear to the side and bows to Tandred. “A dance?”

“For my sister’s lovely bride, o‘course.” His smile is wide and he bows to Velonara before taking Sylvanas' hands and spinning her away.

Vel disappears into the shadows herself. Nathanos makes eye contact with Sylvanas from across the crowd, his fingers twitching in Jaina’s hold. Sylvanas cocks her head and tilts her ear. Nathanos stiffen, jaw tight and gives a swift nod. Jaina spins him away from Sylvanas and narrows her eyes when she spots Sylvanas, curious and suspicious of the way Nathanos had stiffened and nodded. Jaina spins gracefully towards them, dragging Nathanos along. Tandred leads horribly and Sylvanas barely keeps her feet out from under his. “Do you have your sea legs on?” Her voice is goading.

Tandred laughs, shaking his head. “Jaina’s always been the better dancer, I’m better at sea and Der could charm himself from trouble like an eel in a net.”

“The mastermind then.”

“No, that was Jaina.” His grin is a bittersweet thing, much like hers when she thought of Lirath. Of her mother and of her sisters. OF Winderunner Spire and life before death. “Der just kept us from too much trouble.”

Sylvanas wrangles the lead from him, he gives it up with a laugh that makes her ears ring. “You are High Admiral of the Fleet?” She continues to dance, keeping an eye as Jaina nearly shoves her way through the crowd by spinning Nathanos into people. Nathanos huffs and just follows along, refusing to mutter apologies to those of the Alliance when Jaina spins him into them. They get a few annoyed looks but the rage flashing in blue eyes forces them to turn away, cowed by the power in the mage.

Tandred chuckles, deep in his chest. “Aye, least ‘til the sea takes me, or mother forces me to marry.”

Sylvanas hums, eyeing the man. He stood taller than Jaina, his shoulders broad and he wore hunger the same way Jaina did. With broad shoulders thin and cheek bone high and sharp. His eyes were the same, but they lacked the mana that bled into them. He wore the golden hair that Jaina had only a slip of left. He was younger but the sun forced freckles and wrinkles into his face, they could very nearly pass as twins if Jaina’s hair hadn’t been bleached by the mana bomb. “Seems your mother is _missing_ from this marriage.”

Tandred let out a huff, shaking his head with a wry but pained grin. “I’m not touching that one, that’s a Jaina topic.” He winks at her before spinning out of her hold, he bumps right into Jaina and Nathanos, and with an ease born from doing this many, many times, Jaina and Tandred switch partners.

_“Sylvanas.”_ Jaina’s voice is suspicious, eyes narrowed and hands tight in Sylvanas’ own. Her skin tingles with arcane, the mana humming along Jaina’s skin, running thick through her veins and along the scars.

“Wife.” And Jaina still has the ash marks on her face, casting shadows and making her cheeks look all the sharper, bringing out the arcane bleeding in her eyes. The purple of the elven ribbon stands stark against her scarred and freckled arm. “You’ve found me at last.”

“What is going on?” Sylvanas opens her mouth and Jaina hisses, eyes glowing. “Do _not_ lie, I saw the ranger disappear into the shadows. Nathanos has kept too close to me, and you’ve been missing for four dances.”

Sylvanas eyes the way the other elves ears cant in Jaina direction and rolls her eyes, at least her forsaken were more polite about the mana in the air, they didn’t watch Proudmoore like dogs in heat. “Seems you’ve a keen eye.”

Jaina slips them into the shadows, glaring at Sylvanas as she expertly separates them from the crowd. “ _Explain_.”

Sylvanas lounges against the wall, before her ear twitches and she grins, stepping closer until she brackets Jaina into the wall, the shadows dark around them before she pulls Jaina through the shadows and far away from prying ears. “There’s an assassin in our midst.”

Jaina lets out a frustrated breath. “Tides fucking take me.” Sylvanas arches an eyebrow up curiously and Jaina glares at her. “You could’ve told me earlier.”

“Yes, but where would the fun be in that?”

There’s a grunt and then a thump, Sylvanas and Jaina both turn to see a woman, neck snapped and legs bent oddly, having fallen from the balcony. Thankfully there are no witnesses around and Sylvanas turns as Velonara drops down next to them from seemingly thin air. There’s a gleam in her eyes and she’s nearly vibrating with glee. Dancing and hunting down assassins, the youngest ranger was easy to please. “Dark Lady.”

“Report.” Velonara’s eyes dart to Jaina and Sylvanas huffs. “She knows, _report_ _Ranger_.”

“Found her on the roof, bow and arrow.” She slips the arrow from the thigh of her dress and hands it to Sylvanas. “Poisoned, dark essence, the arrow would dissolve once it touched blood, into wisps of shadows.”

Sylvanas sniffs at the arrow, thick in the dark essence and just as deadly as her own arrows. “And it would look like one of my own killed her.”

“Ingenious.” Velonara grins out, impressed and absolutely boastful.

Sylvanas eyes the woman dead on the ground and then snarls, the shadow tendrils thrashing out around her feet. “This one does not have the scar on her face, there is another. Find them, _now_!”

“Another?!” Jaina’s eyes glow as Velonara vanishes. “We try for peace and all they wish to do is kill! How many have attacked you?”

“Me? None.” She eyes Jaina before chuckling darkly. Slipping the arrow into her belt to investigate later. “It seems they wish you dead wife.”

Jaina stills, narrowing her eyes at Sylvanas. “How many?”

“With this one, five, we’re after the sixth now.” Sylvanas eyes her before dropping the last straw, knowing Jaina will not react well. “Who has a mana bomb.”

“Damn them all to the depths of the oceans!” Jaina snarls out, causing the hair on Sylvanas’ arm to prickle at the amount of mana forced into the air, surely all the elven party goers would be nearly salivating at the mana in the air.

They race down the hallway side by side, Jaina follow the pull of mana, Sylvanas doing the same, ears canting this way and that as she listens for her ranger's calls. There’s the barely distinguishable sound of boots on the floor and Sylvanas’ yanks Jaina to the side as an arrow whizzes past their heads, thwapping into the wall and shattering. Shadows come flying towards them, Sylvanas bleeds away in her own shadows as Jaina throws up a shield. Her eyes glow bright blue and she squares her hips and with a twitch of her fingers ice lances are flying down the hall at the two assassins waiting down there.

One is a tall woman, thick shouldered but thin from hunger or illness, her eyes are dark but there’s the glow of arcane in them, dark and deadly. It tastes of shadows and death, nothing of the lightning and sea spray of Jaina’s. The other is a man, near as tall as the woman but leaner, not as broad, he draws back on his bow and sends another arrow towards Jaina. Sylvanas cuts it out of the air with her dagger as Jaina throws ice lances, shifting her hips with each throw, putting all the power of her thick muscles into them. They dig deep into the stone where the human mage dodges, while Sylvanas throws knives and shadows at the archer behind the mage, who continues to fire arrows at them.

There’s the glow of magic in the mage’s chest, the bomb rests there, encased in metal and glass and glowing with arcane like a little mana bomb necklace. Jaina stops a stray arrow from hitting the bomb and the woman grins at her, the bomb across her chest glowing and Sylvanas throws all her shadows at the archer, forcing him back and shattering his bow, Jaina grunts as a stone catches her jaw from a collapsed archway.

“Is spilling blood at a wedding considers bad luck?” Sylvanas quips as she catches lightning from the mage on her dagger and dispels it to the floor, ducking under the archer’s short sword to kick at the mage’s knees before letting her shadows rip through the arcane shield and slicing the man open, he dies with a wordless scream.

“Not for a Kul Tiran.” Jaina grins around a mouthful of blood, throwing an ice bolt and pinning the woman with the scar through her eye to the wall. The mage bleeds off mana and Jaina cuts off their connection to the mana with a twist of her wrist and a glow of her arms and eyes. The bomb on her chest dims and Jaina glares at it. “You have a mana bomb.” Jaina’s voice is dangerous, the air thick with arcane. The assassin makes a motion and Jaina’s hand grips her jaw tightly, not letting her bite down on the poison there. “None of that now.” Sylvanas quirks an eyebrow and watches intently. The glow of the bomb on the mage’s chest is still shining like a beacon of trouble, though dimmed. “I was fine with the assassination attempts, expected them really. Though I expected more to go for the Banshee queen, but _no_. You wanted to make it look like the Horde had killed me.” Jaina’s eyeing the woman like a puzzle, fingers digging into the woman’s jaw to keep her from closing her mouth. “The question is, were you all working together or are there separate factions who want this war to continue?”

Sylvanas chuckles darkly. “They were too disorganized; many people want me dead and by killing you they would have cemented that.”

Jaina says nothing, staring at the mage in her hands. “You made a mistake, I can overlook an attempt on my life, but I will _never_ overlook a mana bomb, you should have ran while you had the chance.”

Sylvanas stiffens, ears perking up. “Shall you torture her wife? Do you have that in you?”

Jaina squeezes the mages jaw, ignoring Sylvanas. “You saw fit to kill everyone here.”

The mage grunts out vitriol, voice barely audible under Jaina’s firm grip, words near slurred. “Saw fit to kill _you_ Orc Whore.” The mage brings up a knife with her injured arm and with swift efficiency Sylvanas sends an arrow through her skull, the mana bomb quits glowing when the woman heaves her last breath.

Sylvanas stares at the dead woman in distaste, that was too close of a call. “You took too long Proudmoore.”

Jaina whirls around, eyes wild and hair whipping around her as arcane shakes the walls around them. “I wanted to question her!”

Sylvanas stiffens, primed to dodge should Jaina’s rage prove troublesome. “Assassins like that have no answers.”

“She had a _mana_ _bomb_!” Jaina’s eyes glow and the air drops in temperature, ice cracking along the floor by Jaina’s feet. “She saw fit to use it!”

Sylvanas keeps her ears still and her face impassive even as shadow tendrils writhe at her feet, ready to take her out of the room should the mage's rage prove disastrous. “Yes.”

“You don’t care!” Jaina throws her arm wide, wild in her rage and a crack sounds through the night as an archway crumbles. Sylvanas barely keeps from twitching, like a wolf caught in the presence of a saber cat she waits for a moment of reprieve. “Do you know what a mana bomb can do?”

“Yes.” Sylvanas hisses out, teeth bared in her own rage. “I know, with that bomb they weren’t just planning on killing you, but all of those here. That is more worrisome than the fact that they tried to kill you.”

Jaina calms, trembling. “We could have questioned her.”

“No.” Sylvanas barely keeps her instincts from forcing her to flee the room, Jaina was the bigger predator in this moment and every instinct told her to _run._ “She had desperation and rage, she would have told us nothing, even if she were tortured.”

“And you know her so well!” Jaina snarls out.

“I know the look in her eyes.” Sylvanas intones, low and dangerous. “Do not forget who I am Proudmoore.”

Jaina scoffs, eyes pinched and pained. “Like I could ever forget that.” Her hands shake with excess mana, scars glowing on her hands, when Sylvanas’ eyes flicker to them the mage hides them away, crossing her arms across her chest and acting as if her body isn’t shivering and shaking like a newborn foal. “What now? We’ve seven dead assassin.”

“We hide the bodies.”

Jaina makes a derisive sound, her fingers clenched in a fist, shaking. “Already keeping secret-“

“We tell the little Lion but that is it.” Sylvanas voice is terse, Sylvanas would trust no one, didn't even want to tell the Little Lion, but he at least would believe their words. He would not use this as a scapegoat to destroy Sylvanas’ people. He was too good to be conniving and cruel. “Anyone else will use this as a ploy to start fighting, do you really want that? To go back to fighting after a few days of peace.”

Jaina glares at her before deflating. “No.”

Sylvanas eyes her, before heaving the body atop her shoulder, the mana bomb on her chest is innate, there’s no arcane connected to it anymore curiously, but Sylvanas trust that should it activate she can escape with ease. Her banshee form was all shadows and rage. She makes her way to her rangers, Jaina on her heels. They are quiet for a bit, before Sylvanas, always Sylvanas, presses. “What she called you-“

Jaina interrupts, rolling her eyes like Sylvanas was a child in need of scolding. “ _Orc_ _Whore_ , yes, I’ve gotten that a lot, due to Theramore and my closeness with the orcs, my fat-“ Jaina freezes before shoving the body off of Sylvanas shoulder.

Sylvanas stumbles, spinning around as the body thumps into the floor and Jaina kneels. Sylvanas’ hand flinches to her knife before she glares at Jaina. “What are you _doing_?”

“Only Kul Tirans, only my father’s fleet, called me that.” Jaina trembles, voice thick and she shakes her head. “Daughter of the Sea, Orc Fucker, Horde Whore, Orc Whore.” She shoves the woman’s sleeve up and shakes her head with a shaky desperate laugh, sounding half as mad as people speculated she was.

Sylvanas eyes the patch of skin, it is horrible scarred, but she can’t make out what sets the woman off. “The scar?”

“Where it’s at.” Jaina’s fingers press into the scar before she pulls her fingers away with a shake of her head. “She’s Kul Tiran, a Fleet Captain by the placement and coverage.”

“Of a scar?” Sylvanas barely keeps the scoff from her voice as Jaina stares at this scar like it’s the answer to everything.

“Of what is hidden under it, Kul Tiran captain’s they always shake with their right hand and they always keep their forearms exposed.” And Tandred had an anchor there, nearly identical to the anchor around Jaina’s throat. “They’ve an anchor there, with stars depicting how long they’ve captained a ship, or the wins they had, pirate ships they’ve sank and such.”

Sylvanas shakes her head in disbelief. “Anya was right.”

“What?”

“She said Kul Tiran or Menethil sympathizers.” Jaina flinches like Sylvanas had wanted to at the name that haunted both of them.

“Yes well, I did anger a lot of people with Theramore.” Jaina glares at the scar. “There has to be a record of her. Mages don’t make captain, they become tide sages.” Jaina stares at the woman, shaking her head as she pries the woman’s eyes open. “Her magic felt, tainted. Unnatural.”

Sylvanas watches Jaina, poke at the bomb strapped to the woman’s chest, staring at it and finding it oddly fused to the woman. Not a necklace or a chest plate like she had thought, but actually set into her chest. “The mana bomb?”

“Wasn’t like Garrosh’s, not like Theramore.” Her voice cracks over those words, they always would, for Theramore had been the turning point of her life, the pinnacle that decided who she would become. “The second I cut off her mana it faded. The second she died, it died. It was connected to her through the mana in her.”

“What does that mean?”

Jaina looks up at her, her eyes glow with arcane and her body trembles with it, so much more powerful than this mage that had tried to kill them all, yet she looks as exhausted as Sylvanas feels. She looks battleworn and half dead. Not even married a day and they’d dealt with more than they should. “It means she _was_ the bomb.”

Sylvanas’ rolls the woman over with her foot. “ _Curious_.” She stares at the Kul Tiran that had cursed Jain out and had went after her with something every knew the mage was scarred by. Going after Jaina with a mana bomb was akin to coming to Sylvanas with frostmourne. Sylvanas glared at the dead woman, they would figured this out. Together it seemed, as they were oddly the two advocating for peace.


End file.
